


Roses

by lyricwritesprose



Series: Prompt Sprints [1]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Flower Language, Fluff, M/M, Prompt Fic, Pure Plotless Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-28
Updated: 2020-06-28
Packaged: 2021-03-04 00:55:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 254
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24954901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyricwritesprose/pseuds/lyricwritesprose
Summary: Crowley brings Aziraphale a bouquet to celebrate moving into their cottage.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley
Series: Prompt Sprints [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1806130
Comments: 35
Kudos: 150
Collections: GO-DIWS Prompt Sprints, Lyric's Emergency Fluff Collection





	Roses

**Author's Note:**

> This was written for a prompt game on a _Good Omens_ server that I go to. Basically, one has twenty minutes to work with a prompt, usually one word, and then we all see what we've come up with. The prompt for this one was, unsurprisingly, "roses."

“Red roses?” Aziraphale took the bouquet and breathed the scent in deeply.

“Always liked them,” Crowley said. “I tried to bring you some when you opened the bookshop, but, you know—invasion of Heavenly wankers.”

_ “Crowley.” _

“It’s true, you know it’s true. Anyway, I thought, the two of us moving into a new place—and they’d look nice on the table in the cottage—”

“They would,” Aziraphale said. “It’s very considerate of you, and I won’t have any argument on the subject.”

Crowley muttered something that might or might not contain the word  _ considerate _ in scathing tones.

“It’s a pity,” Aziraphale said, as he led the way through to the dining room, “that yellow roses have such unpleasant associations in flower language. I appreciate the red ones, of course, but yellow  _ is _ such a lovely color.”

“I don’t actually know a thing about flower language,” Crowley confessed.

Aziraphale turned around, roses in hand. “You don’t?”

“I think I slept through the bits when it was really popular.”

“So you don’t know . . .” Aziraphale gestured vaguely with the roses.

“What those say?” Crowley finished. “Nope. No idea.” Anxiety welled up. “Are they saying something  _ bad? _ Because—you know I wouldn’t—I don’t want to—”

Aziraphale put the roses aside and stepped forward to soothe him. “No. No, they aren’t saying anything bad. In fact, they’re saying what I think—what I think we both struggle to say. After all that time not saying it.”

“Oh,” Crowley said quietly, and vowed to shower Aziraphale in red roses.


End file.
